


How To Rule A Country

by ZipZap3



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZipZap3/pseuds/ZipZap3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys receives new advisors</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Daenerys held the ruby necklace in her palm. The weight of the cold metal was heavier than she expected, and the ornate dragon heads were covered in rich gems. From the window, sunlight caught the dark Valyrian steel and shadowed the steep ridges, turning the dragons into midnight beasts.

“Missandei,” Dany called. The girl walked into the room, followed by two Unsullied soldiers. Dany wondered how it came about that her protector needed protecting too. “Missandei, could you please take this back to the metal worker and ask him to re-forge it with less gems? I don’t think it’s fitting for a _khaleesi_ to wear such an ornate accessory amongst people who are meant to be her equals.”

Missandei took the necklace in her hand and studied it. “Your Grace, if I may give you counsel? I think you should wear this necklace as it is. You have said you are both a _khaleesi_ and a queen, and some say you are a goddess. You may want these free citizens of Meereen to be your equals, but they do not see you as equal. Maybe it would be best to act as though you are higher, so as to not mock the citizens.”

“Very well, I shall keep the necklace. Will you help put it on me?” Dany swept her hair over her shoulders and let the young girl drape the metal over her collar. Each of the dragon heads protruded from her collarbone, their spiked necks just brushing her throat. Once clasped, Missandei stepped away from her queen. “Thank you.” Dany re-position her hair down her back, two long ringlets hanging beside her head.

Slowly, she got up from her chair. The council room was cool, a soft breeze blowing in from the open doors on each side. Both of the Unsullied stood motionless beside the large table. A badge on one’s collar showed he was a commander, and Dany tenderly pulled off his helmet. Grey Worm bowed for his queen, but the other stayed upright.

“Queen Daenerys,” He spoke in quiet Valyrian. “Your necklace becomes you.”

“Thank you, Grey Worm. May you please go fetch me the two princesses? I want them clean and unchained for my audience.” Grey Worm bowed again and exited the council room. Sighing, Daenerys reached for the flagon of wine by the window. She poured out two cups and gave one to her handmaiden. “Drink, Missandei. I fear our next audience will be very…tiring.” Both girls downed the wine in two swallows. When they lowered their goblets, their cheeks were flushed and their eyes were brighter.

“ _Khaleesi_?” Ser Jorah Mormont was standing in the door. He was dressed in his armour, the silver breastplate adorned with the bear of House Mormont. He held his helmet under his arm and his longsword was sheathed in its scabbard. Beneath his breastplate was a tunic of boiled leather. "Your audience awaits you.”

The Meereenese queen descended the steps in her great pyramid, followed by the Westerosi knight and the slave girl. The throne room was empty save for a count of twenty Unsullied. Ser Jorah entered before Daenerys and announced her arrival. The queen took a deep breath, digesting the butterflies in her stomach, and followed him in. Torches lined the walls beside windows draped in red silk; the chandeliers swung in full glow; the throne gleamed with polish. Daenerys seated herself as Missandei stood to her left, lower down the steps.

“Ser Jorah,” Daenerys’ voice echoed in the silent room. “Bring me the prisoners.”

The knight gestured to the Unsullied by the door, who brought the two Westerosi princesses before his queen. They both wore clean dresses of red and black fabric, the colours of House Targaryen. The one on the right had her long brown ringlets tied into plaits whilst the other wore her ginger hair straight down. Both had fearful expressions on their faces.

“Name yourselves.” Daenerys commanded. The kneeling princesses exchanged glances and the redhead spoke first.

“I am Sansa Stark, Princess of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North.”

“And I am Margaery Tyrell, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Heiress to Highgarden and the Reach.” Margaery paused and smirked up at the queen. “I suppose I’m going to be killed for being the queen?”

Dany scoffed. “A just queen does not kill all those who oppose her. Did you choose to be queen? Was your marriage to the traitor Tommen your choice? No?”

“No,” Margaery and Sansa unfolded themselves from their kneeling. “But I _wanted_ to be a queen. I wanted to be _the_ queen.” Her pretty brown eyes turned savage and she spoke with no kindness. “And now I have been shipped here by my husband’s uncle to be dealt with by you.”

The Lady Sansa stared meekly at the floor, a look of fear passing through her icy blue eyes. She worried at her lip with her teeth. “What Lady Margaery means is, she is unhappy with her arrival in Meereen. I believe she fears she will be sold into slavery.”

“Have you not been told of my doings? Ser Jorah has been spying on me for a Westerosi man; no doubt he has told you that I am meaning to eradicate slavery. Every man, woman and child will be free under my reign, so long as I live as queen.” Dany stood and descended the steps to her prisoners. Lightly, she laid a hand on the Tyrell girl’s shoulder and lifted her head. “I will not sell you into slavery. Quite the opposite, in fact. I intend to let you join my small council. Both of you.” Sansa looked the silver haired queen in the eye, her surprise plain on her face. “I understand you know Westeros far better than I, and so you will tell me all about it, so that I can rule the Seven Kingdoms the best way I can.”

“ _Khaleesi_ ,” Ser Jorah murmured into her ear. “Surely you can’t trust these girls so soon. They may be spies.”

Dany wheeled around and looked up into his tanned face. Crinkles creased the corners of his eyes and his fair hair grew shaggy around his ears. “Ser Jorah, you are in no position to counsel me on whom to trust, especially when I have only so recently bid you permission to re-enter my city. I will have these girls on my council, and when I take the Seven Kingdoms, I will give them back their rightful castles and land.”

Ser Jorah turned away from his queen and climbed back up the steps, glancing at Missandei on the way. Daenerys returned her attention to her new advisors, who had broad smiles on their faces. “Follow me to your new chambers. If you require anything, all you need to do is ask.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her chambers were glorious. The Queen across the Narrow Sea had furnished the vast room with a plush four poster bed adorned with red curtains, a mahogany desk equipped with paper and ink and wax to seal letters, several deep wooden chests lined in silver, glittering torches and chandeliers and three full jugs of wine. Sansa flopped down on the soft feather mattress and spread her skirts over the fur blankets, her red hair fanning out on the pillows beneath her head. She wondered if Margaery’s chambers were the same, and couldn’t wait to see her friend again.

Sansa jolted at the knock on the door. She raced over and pulled open the heavy wood to see the young, quiet girl who accompanied Queen Daenerys in the throne room.  She smiled and entered the room, moving to the centre. She wore a light blue dress and had a small chain necklace with the three headed dragon of the Targaryen’s on the end, her hair wild and curly, surrounding her head like a dark halo. In her hands she held a knife, bejewelled with jades and pearls.

“Lady Sansa,” Missandei said. She thrust the knife into Sansa’s hands, hilt forward. “This is a gift from Queen Daenerys, to honour you as her new advisor.”

The knife was dark silver, the blade layered in typical Valyrian steel fashion. The hilt was bound in leather, but the cross guard was fashioned into wings with gems on the bottom. Sansa gasped at the beautiful dragons head pommel. Its eyes were pearls and there was a line of jades down its skull, stopping at where the black boiled leather began. Three words were etched into the blade: _Fire and Blood_.

“The Targaryen words,” Sansa ran her fingers over the cold metal. The sharp edge nicked her finger and drew blood. Calmly, she wiped the cut on her dress. “This blade is beautiful, truly.”

Missandei eyed the Stark girl before she left. Her caramel skin glowed in the torchlight and her thin frame was held with purpose as she strode from the room. Sansa stood where she was until the door clicked closed, and then she gently laid the knife on the dark brown desk, amongst the writing papers and bottles of ink. There was no scabbard to sheath the blade in and so Sansa made note in her head to be very careful with it. _Do not play with it_ , she told herself, _it is Valyrian steel. You know how sharp father’s greatsword Ice was_.

Outside the windows, the sun was setting over Meereen. The pyramid was so tall that Sansa could see all the way to the walls. Homes and fighting pits stood low beneath the high home for the queen. Stars and constellations dotted the sky above, the red comet burning dimly but still present after all those years.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Sansa turned in a whirl of skirts and dashed out the door. The corridor was darker, no windows allowing the fading sunlight in, and torches burned in wide intervals. Two Unsullied guarded Sansa’s door, their black armour dull and their tall spears scary. When she made to move between them, one grabbed her arm.

“The Queen will not allow you to leave your chambers after dark.” His attempted use of the Common Tongue was poor. A Valyrian accent lay thick over his words and his pronunciation made the sentence barely understandable.

Sansa wrenched her arm free of the bulky soldier. Her blue eyes glistened with tears and she let her lip quiver slightly. “I’m just going to see Lady Margaery. She is my friend, and I need to speak with her.”

The soldier nodded in agreement and led her through the corridor. They turned two corners before her brought her up to a door, also guarded by two men, but these were not wearing the uniform of the Unsullied. The taller one knocked on the door just as it was thrown open. Missandei appeared, behind her a glaring Margaery. The Tyrell’s face softened when she saw Sansa and she gestured for her to enter. Keeping her head down, Sansa brushed past Missandei and the soldiers, into the room. The door was closed behind her and when the sounds of footsteps faded, Sansa allowed herself to collapse into Margaery’s arms. She began to cry real tears, sobbing quietly, the noise muffled by Margaery’s neck.

“It’s okay, sweetling,” Margaery rubbed Sansa’s back lightly as she cried. Margaery’s chambers were much the same as Sansa’s, but there was a window seat built into the wall with red cushions piled onto it. “We are safe now. We have a new queen, new court. No more Cersei, or any Lannisters.”

“There is Tyrion.” Sansa recoiled at the image of him standing in Daenerys’s throne room, his nose-less face smiling down at her kneeling, praying for her life. The dwarf was her husband once more, but her deep-set feelings of betrayal scarred any affection she might have had for him.

Margaery pushed Sansa away from her and sat her down on the bed. Lazily, she twirled a strand of the girl’s red hair in her fingers and smiled. “I’m sure our new queen can annul your marriage. I think it would be in the best interest of everybody.” She leaned forward and kissed Sansa on the lips.

The young Stark girl returned the kiss for only a second before pulling away and wiping her tears away. She loved Margaery, far more than she loved Tyrion, but even if her marriage were to be annulled, she doubted she’d be bid permission to marry her Tyrell lover. Hastily, she popped open the buttons on her dress and slid the fabric off her shoulders, as Margaery did the same. In her small clothes, Sansa reclined on the bed and let Margaery straddle her hips. They kissed, deep and passionate, both of them letting their hands wander over each other’s bodies in search of something unfamiliar.

Sansa rolled Margaery onto her back and broke off their kiss, gaining a pout from her lover. Smirking, Sansa poked her nose, causing it to scrunch up. Margaery’s fair skin was smooth beneath Sansa’s finger, but her eyes were wide and deep. She pulled the fur blankets over the both of them and rested her head on the pillow behind her.

“My lady, I think we should sleep. If we are to be advising a Queen, it would be best not to be too tired.” Margaery turned onto her side and looked Sansa in the eyes. Their breaths mingled between them, shadows casting over both their faces as the torches burnt low, and Margaery drifted off to sleep. The feel of her warm body comforted Sansa, but she feared to sleep. Nightmares plagued her constantly, whether she be awake or not, and not even the milk of the poppy could help her. In Winterfell, after Ramsay would have his way with her, she’d drink it, or the maesters would give her something more powerful, but she could never sleep happily, and sometimes being awake was better. Lying in bed with Margaery, Sansa wondered if her dreams would be happier. It was a risk she was willing to take.

*

“Do you really think I’ve made a bad decision?” Daenerys lay on her bed, naked save for the blanket draped over her body, watching Daario Naharis pour wine into a cup. He was tall, his skin tan and smooth. There was a dark smattering of hair over his chest, his arms and legs almost hairless. Dany thought he was beautiful, and clever.

“With what? Allowing Lord Tyrion freedom to fuck who he wants? Or letting two Westerosi royals who could be spies advising you on what to do?” Daario gave his queen a bitter smile. “Don’t you think you should learn more about these princesses before you let them make your decisions?”

Dany shook her head. “I trust Tyrion’s judgement. If he says these two girls are smart, then I believe him. If he says they will not betray me, I believe him.” She spread a hand over Daario’s chest as he climbed back onto the bed. “Isn’t it good luck to know a dwarf?”

“It is good luck to do many things with a dwarf, but this dwarf is a relative of the enemy and he has brought more-”

“More people who loathe the Lannisters? Have you not heard what Tyrion has told me? Have you not heard of the Lannisters cruelty towards these princesses? They have every reason to want new rulers.” Dany turned away from Daario and put out the torch on her bedside table. “Sleep now,” She said. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Margaery groaned herself awake, stretching out her arms and legs until they hit something soft and warm. Sansa cuddled into her back, still sleeping soundly.  Her bright auburn hair was fanned out on the pillows, her mouth hung open slightly. Her face looked youthful. _Which it is_ , Margaery reminded herself.

She climbed off the bed, the wooded frame creaking slightly, and padded over to the window seat. Essos was still too new for her, despite her being there for a week. Worse, she missed King’s Landing and all its danger. Safety was unnatural for her after all her years at court. The absence of Cersei Lannister was unsettling.

In the back of her mind, Margaery could see Tommen, his head lolling off to the side, his neck cut far open. The poor boy barely had a life, and yet he had been king and a man wedded and bedded. Ramsay Bolton’s axe had cut through the bone but never made it all the way through when the Kingslayer took him down. Margaery had been cowering behind the great Iron Throne, watching the killing, until a hand clamped down on her mouth and she was dragged from the room. She had thought it was the Boltons, trying to kill her, but when she was brought into the light outside the castle, it was Tyrion Lannister. He had come to save her.

A soft noise pulled Margaery from the past and she turned away from the window. Sansa had woken and she was standing by the door, next to a horror-stricken young girl who held a dress in her arms. She was spluttering something to the Stark girl, something about her not knowing that Margaery had a guest.

“I-I-I was un-n-n-aware that you were here, m-my l-l-lady,” Shakily, the girl curtsied. “Sh-sh-shall I tell Sera to send your dress here?”

Margaery had moved over to the door and was waiting quietly by Sansa’s shoulder. The dress in the maid’s arms was beautiful, a long gown on green and gold fabric, with alternating roses and dragons along the neckline, which was steep enough to keep Margaery’s chest cool in the heat.

“Lady Stark was just leaving,” Margaery said, placing a light kiss on Sansa’s jawline, much to the horror of the girl in front of them. Sansa’s cheeks flooded with blood, reddening in the way they did when something only marginally scandalous happened.

With a light push, Margaery got the redhead out of her chamber and took the dress from the other girl. When she offered to help Margaery dress, the Tyrell waved her away with only a demand for water for her bath. _I will do everything for myself_ , Margaery thought, _I can do this._

The tub was filled with steaming water, rose petals sprinkled in and a washcloth left on the basin. Margaery stepped out of her underclothes and climbed into the hot water. She washed her hair with the scented soap left beside the bath, untangling the long curly strands. She ran the washcloth over her pale skin and watched the last of King’s Landing fall into the water. When she was done she laced the dress over her body herself and pulled soft leather sandals onto her feet. In the tall looking glass by her bed, she looked herself over.

The dress fit her perfectly, parts at the waist cut out to bare her skin. It was sleeveless, the neckline plunging much like the dresses she wore in Westeros, and the clasp at the front was styled as a dragons head surrounded by roses. Her wavy hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, the green of the dress blending nicely with the light brown.

She turned away from the looking glass as her door opened once more and a different young serving girl came in. She curtsied and handed a piece of parchment to the lady. It was folded in half and on the top was Margaery’s name, handwritten in beautiful cursive. Inside was an invitation to breakfast, signed by the queen herself. Margaery thanked the girl and let her lead her out the room. Two soldiers flanked them as they made their way through the pyramid, their boots and armour clanging loudly compared to the lady’s silent footsteps. Bright sunlight poured in from every window they passed, although they were few and far between, and where it was darker, fiery torches had been lit.

They came up to a dark wooden door with windows cut out from it. The young maid who had fetched Margaery pushed it open and gestured for the Westerosi to enter. The room was smaller than any other that Margaery had seen, but it was still large and the ceiling high windows let the sunlight stream in. On the far end, two doors opened out onto a balcony and Margaery was led over there. When she emerged into the fresh air she saw a table laid with pastries and pies and sitting in a wicker chair was the queen. Daenerys Targaryen wore a stark white gown with cut outs at the hips and a thin cloak made of white wool. Her silvery white hair was piled high above her head, her trademark ringlets falling either side of her face.

“Your Grace,” Margaery curtsied and the queen turned around. She smiled down at the princess, her thick eyebrows rising high on her forehead.

“My lady, please sit. Lady Sansa should be joining us soon.” Daenerys narrowed her eyes as Margaery blushed deep red. “Is there a problem?  If it is too warm out here then we can move inside.”

“No, Your Grace, I am okay out here. It is just, Lady Sansa and I…are…well I’m sure she can tell you but…well-ah here she is!”

Sansa Stark walked out onto the balcony wearing a dress of white and blue material, sleeveless like Margaery’s, the clasp at the front fashioned as a dragons head surrounded by direwolves. She looked uncomfortable with all of her skin on display, even more so when she saw Margaery. They stared at each other as the maid who had seen them together blushed red.

“Lady Sansa!” Daenerys smiled broadly, bringing the attention back to herself, oblivious to Sansa’s discomfort. “Lady Margaery was saying that you had a request? I’m sure whatever it is, it’s within my power.”

Margaery lowered her head beneath Sansa’s deep glare and blushed. Before she could apologise, Daenerys gestured to the table and they all sat. An Unsullied soldier handed the queen a knife and she cut slices of pie for each of them. Wine was poured, although Sansa graciously denied it and instead chose fruit juice.

“I got it all the way from the free cities. Pentos, I think. Probably a gift from Magister Illyrio. Anyhow, he is very generous with gifts and recently I have received fruit juices of all kind.” Daenerys boasted. She sported a broad smile, not quite reaching her eyes but sincere all the same. Margaery marvelled at her beauty.

“My queen, my ladies,” Lord Tyrion stood in the doorway, bowing low. He was dressed in light, airy clothing, his tunic made of linen dyed red. He wore thin leather boots and his beard and hair were trimmed neatly. His skin gleamed in the sunlight and the sight of Sansa made him smile. “Queen Daenerys, did you know Lady Sansa and I were wedded? I’m not sure if the marriage is still valid, especially since other matters came in the way, and it was never consummated.”

“Is that so?” Daenerys turned to Sansa and laid a hand over hers. “Is your request that I annul your marriage? Did you have another suitor in mind or are you merely looking to have your marriage granted invalid in all eyes?”

Sansa blushed to her hair, embarrassed and flattered at Daenerys’s generosity. Her wandering eyes made Margaery nervous and she feared the girl would blurt something out. She didn’t know what the people of Meereen would think of their relationship, be it scandalous in Westeros or not, and she certainly wanted to stay in the queen’s good graces. Losing their new ruler and being banished back to King’s Landing would be a death sentence for both of them, even if the only living Lannister was in Meereen with them.

“I’d just like it granted invalid,” Sansa began, her voice shaky. The red hadn’t left her cheeks, and Margaery thought she could see tears in her Tully blue eyes. “Though if a new offer for marriage was to come my way, would you allow it?” She looked Margaery in the eye, but her words were so carefully directed to Daenerys, who nodded and smiled.

“Your marriage to Tyrion Lannister is officially annulled,” Both Tyrion and Sansa sighed in relief. “And should you wish to marry again, any man you wish, you have my permission.”

Sansa thanked her, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She wanted to say more, maybe mention her nights with Margaery. Her eyes looked up to the Tyrell and Margaery sighed, nodding for confirmation even though her stomach roiled with butterflies. Daenerys’s face switched between both of them in the silence, confusion written plain over the happiness.

“Lady Sansa…?” She raised an eyebrow, her voice breaking the stillness and startling Tyrion, who also looked confused at the quiet exchange between the princesses. Margaery nudged Sansa’s leg beneath the table and turned back to the queen.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Nonchalance dripped from the words, although the Stark’s face betrayed it, as she blushed redder than her hair and her fingers drummed against her leg.

Daenerys frowned, her thick eyebrows dropping down her forehead, her light eyes narrowing. “Tell me about the state of Westeros. Tell me how hard it will be to take.”

Westeros was a wreck, Sansa told her, and the whole country was plunged into poverty and massacre. Stannis Baratheon was dead, as was Cersei Lannister and Ramsay Bolton. Roose Bolton had a shaky rule over the people, although the beloved King Tommen was still mourned greatly. Mace Tyrell remained on the small council, but much of the others were executed. Littlefinger was exiled, somewhere in the North, possibly with the Night’s Watch, despite the impending attack from the Night’s King. Doran Martell was gathering his forces to end the weakened Boltons whilst Balon Greyjoy was cowering back in his castle. Jaime Lannister was prisoner once again; Brienne of Tarth solemnly serving Davos Seaworth and Ellaria Sand and her Sand Snakes were trying to end Doran. Harvest was failing, winter was coming and the world was ending.

“It is chaos, Your Grace, and I think that if you attack soon, the people will let you take the throne willingly, all as long as you end war and restore peace.” Sansa finished. Daenerys Targaryen listened intently, already forming plans in her head, and Margaery ate her breakfast. As to how Sansa knew so much, she was clueless, but she also knew that it was all correct and that sooner or later Westeros would be destroyed.

“Grey Worm, escort Lady Sansa and Lady Margaery back to their chambers. I must speak with Tyrion alone.” Daenerys rested her head in her palm and Margaery stood, placing her fork back on the table and following the Unsullied back through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in her bedchamber, Sansa sat down at her desk and picked up a quill. As she dipped it in ink she recalled the time her mother Catelyn showed her how to write her letters in a curly, ornate style. She remembered asking why Maester Luwin hadn’t taught her this, and her mother replying with, “Because Maester Luwin does not know. He writes only in basic script; this is a proper lady’s calligraphy.” The memory warmed Sansa inside, and she started penning her letter.

Within the hour, she wrote three whole pages, all to her sister, Arya, and her brothers. She knew that her brothers were dead, but she still held out hope for her younger sister, despite how irritating she could become, because she could not bear to lose everyone. She did not want to only have Margaery, or the queen in Essos. Even Lord Tyrion had grown on her, but he would never fill the gap her family had left.

The sun rose high and lazy outside, beams of bright light streaming in from the windows and illuminating the pages on the desk. Heat sat heavily the room, relieved every few minutes by a weak breeze. Sansa felt sweat run down her cheek, the one which faced the sun, but she didn’t bother wiping it away, for it would take time away from her letter. The sound of the city barely penetrated the pyramid, although occasionally there would be a shout louder than others that reached the young Stark’s ears and jerk her head towards the window. Her quill made a small scratching noise on the parchment and whenever she dipped it in the ink jar it would clack against the glass. Sansa’s focus turned the world still around her and mingled with the heat as words were scrawled and crossed out and sentences were made ever so carefully.

When she finished it was midday and her stomach rumbled loudly. She realised she had barely eaten at the breakfast; she was too caught up with describing Westeros to Daenerys Targaryen, the queen who was foreign to the country. She called for her handmaidens and asked them to bring her food. One left, a young brown haired girl with round eyes coloured green. The other stood, waiting.

“Bring me Lady Margaery; I must speak with her at once.” Sansa turned as the handmaiden shut the door and folded up her letter. Using the only lit candle in the room, she dripped wax over the fold and stamped it with a seal of a three headed dragon.  _I’ll never use the direwolf sigil again_ , she thought sadly.

Margaery was brought to her before the food, and Sansa gestured for her to sit at the window. Together they looked out over the city, and when the handmaiden left, Sansa linked their hands together. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Margaery spoke the question Sansa feared.

“Are you going to tell the queen?” She stared at the Stark girl with her big doe eyes, her mouth curled down slightly. Sansa felt her heart beating hard, and she wanted to press her lips to Margaery’s. She didn’t, though, but she didn’t answer the question, either.

Part of her did want to tell their new queen. The Targaryen girl seemed as though she’d let them marry, or at least she’d turn a blind eye to their relationship and let it go on as it had been. Daenerys had bigger problems than Margaery and Sansa, or so Sansa thought. But telling Daenerys would mean Tyrion Lannister would find out, and Tyrion would not approach it as nonchalantly as his ruler. An upbringing in Westeros would have left him hateful for pairings such as the two princesses, even if he was accepting of other things due to his own issues with society.

 _Even if we were to marry_ , Sansa thought, _there could be no heirs, no legitimate children. We’d have no one to give our castles to, no one to inherit the North, or the Reach._ Marriage would be useless, Sansa decided. Marriage would mean they’d be doing what they were doing already, but with the public knowing about it. Sansa voiced her thought and studied Margaery as she listened. A shadow crossed the pretty girl’s face, and she tugged her hand free of Sansa’s.

“But marriage means we can love each other, properly,” Margaery brushed a loose ringlet of fine brown hair behind her ear, never taking her eyes off Sansa’s. “Daenerys should know, before she goes and finds a husband for _me_!”

Sansa was taken aback at her friend’s tone. “You seemed very uncomfortable with the prospect of me bringing up our relationship at breakfast, why do you feel so eager to spill our secret now? And anyhow, wouldn’t a husband be perfect for you? Queen Daenerys can surely find you a knight or a lord from Westeros, or some rich man from the free cities. I may be free of a man but you _must_ want somebody other than me?”

“I don’t want a husband, sweet girl, I want you. And I want Daenerys to know, despite all my embarrassment at breakfast. I shan’t lie; I do not think a pairing as uncommon and…frowned upon as ours should be explained across a breakfast table. We shall request an audience with the queen, or maybe mention it at a meeting of her small council, especially now that we are to advise Her Grace.” Margaery leaned forward and kissed Sansa, her lips only just brushing against the auburn-haired girl’s, and then she stood, and in a swirl of colourful skirts she swept to the bed, where she stared at Sansa sitting motionless at the window. Sansa lifted her fingers carefully, touching her lips lightly where Margaery had just been, and then stood too, smoothing her skirts as she rose. With much care she pushed Margaery onto the feather mattress and began pressing deeper kisses onto her lips, tongue sliding in between teeth, hands clutching her jaw. Their breathing grew heavy, their lips more hurried, until it was all Sansa could do to not unlace Margaery’s dress. They’d been playful like this in King’s Landing, but never had they gone further. The idea of Margaery naked, her slender body fully on display, excited Sansa, and made her nervous all the same.

A sharp knock on the door cause Sansa to leap off the other girl, blushing redder than her hair. Margaery chuckled and lifted herself off the bed to stand beside the red-faced Stark. A handmaid walked into the room, the same one from earlier, and told them both that they had been summoned to the council chamber. Once again they wove their way through the pyramid, though this time they found themselves in a smaller room, furnished lightly with a wooden table and chairs, sconces holding burning torches and a few tapestries hanging from the wall. A map was laid out on the table, an old knight leaning over it, pointing out areas to a younger man beside him. Both had tanned skin, and the older man bore the bear of House Mormont on his breast. Sansa recognised him as Ser Jorah, the man Daenerys spoke of as the spy when she was announced as one of her advisors. The other man, Sansa didn’t know, but his dark hair and skin and his odd clothing said he was not from Westeros. Neither looked up until the handmaid cleared her throat quietly, and then both stared at the meek girls with queer expressions.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Margaery, I introduce you to Ser Jorah Mormont, commander of my Queensguard and dearest friend to me.” Queen Daenerys swept into the room from a different door, wearing a different dress than the one from the morning. She gestured to Jorah and then turned her attention to the other man, who smiled broadly at the queen. “This man is Daario Nahaeris, captain of the sellsword company, the Second Sons. He, too, protects me, and is also my friend. Please, all of you sit. We have important matters to discuss.”

Daenerys sat at the head of the table, Jorah and Daario either side of her. Sansa pulled out a chair next to the knight, whilst Margaery moved round to sit beside the sellsword. All of them angled themselves to face the queen, who clasped her hands before her, elbows resting on the table. Missandei stood just behind her, to the right, and an Unsullied soldier with the look of a high rank stood to the left. The map that was rolled across the table was a map of Westeros, a few places along the coast marked in red ink. Sansa picked out King’s Landing in the south, and Winterfell further north. Names of other castles were dotted about the drawing, and the Houses whom lived in them were written underneath. Little figures bearing the houses sigils stood amongst the castles, showing were everybody was and several dragon figures were strewn around the table. Daenerys peered over them, her breathing light, her purple eyes narrowed.

“Ser Jorah,” Daenerys said. “Tell me about Meereen. What do the people want?”

A shadow passed over the knight’s face and he scowled deeply. “Many people demand the fighting pits be reopened. Now that the Sons of the Harpy are gone, they feel as though it is safe again.” He paused, gauging his queen’s reaction. All she did was glare, but not at him. “If you do open the fighting pits once more, Meereen may bring back some trade.”

“Trade in slaves?” She snapped. “I understand the fighting pits are traditional but if I cannot have free men fight in them then I don’t want any men.”

Daario Nahaeris scratched his chin before saying, “You will have free men fighting in the pits. Maybe not all of them, but you could tax the slave masters if they wish to enter anyone who is not free. That way, slavers will want to fight the slaves less, and those who do want to enter them will give you money.” The sellsword looked at his queen with a cheeky twinkle in his eye, and the hunger for her was plain on his face. Sansa stole a moment to look at Margaery, who seemed deeply engrossed in Daario’s reasoning. To Sansa it was meaningless: she knew nothing of business and less of the fighting pits, although she did feel some sort of want to see these pits. Once, back in Winterfell, she had read of Daznak’s Pit, the mightiest arena. Despite its gruesome history she was interested to see it in person.

“I will impose a tax on all those who wish to enter slaves into the pit. Free men may fight as they please.” Daenerys settled the matter with a sigh.

The council meeting continued for another hour, and Sansa barely said a thing. Daenerys spoke with Daario about the army and with Jorah she asked about food. The Unsullied soldier gave a report on the dwindling number of slave masters and Missandei fetched a tray of cakes and a flagon of wine. Little was mentioned about Westeros, although the gathering rebellion in Yunkai was a pressing matter. Daenerys sought after the health of her children and Sansa wondered who had fathered them. When the meeting seemed to be coming to an end, Margaery perked her head up across the table and made to speak.

“Your Grace,” She began. Sansa could feel her hands trembling, and to her embarrassment blood started flooding to her cheeks. “If I may ask you a question?” Daenerys waved her on. “Now that Lady Sansa’s marriage has been annulled in the eyes of gods and men, we had a matter pressing on our minds. You see, Sansa rejected finding a husband because she and I share an…intimate relationship.”

The queen blushed slightly, though not as deep red as Sansa and nowhere near as bad as the knight and the sellsword. Margaery looked to Daenerys, awaiting her answer, and Sansa dared not lift her eyes from the map.

“Is it your wish to be married?” Daenerys had no ice in her tone, only smooth kindness. Her lack of displeasure at Margaery’s words relieved Sansa of the butterflies which had been flurrying around in her stomach, but the others in the room were looking at them with odd expressions. Only Margaery appeared comfortable, whether it be a façade or not.

Both girls moved to speak at once, but cut off their words when they heard the other speaking. Sansa only got out a squeak, whilst Margaery managed to say yes. Daenerys nodded and smiled slightly. She told them they’d get a wedding ceremony as soon as she could fund one, since she was spending so much maintaining her city and growing her army. After, the council was dismissed and everyone made to leave. Daenerys called for Jorah to stay, which he did, and Sansa left walking side by side with Lady Margaery.

*

“ _Khaleesi_ ,” Jorah said. Queen Daenerys had her palms pressed against the arms of her great wooden chair and her eyes were fixated on the table. Something was troubling her, the old knight could see, although he doubted it was the Lady Margaery’s permission for marriage. Memories of his life with her and Drogo’s _khalasar_ flooded back to him in a great torrent, and it was all he could do to not sweep the young Targaryen into his arms.

In the council room, which was growing dimmer as the day came to a close, two guards stood watch, expressionless as the Unsullied were trained, but no doubt listening and understanding. Ser Jorah Mormont knew they were disciplined enough not to go spreading what they heard in the council chamber, yet he did not want them to see such an earnest exchange between him and their queen.

Slowly, the knight folded himself back into his chair and picked a grape from the bowl on the table. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger before popping it into his mouth and chewing. Sour juices burst against his tongue, tasty and overwhelming. When he swallowed, he spoke again.

“The matter of Daznak’s Pit is no worry, Your Grace. If the people of Meereen wish for it to be reopened it would be a great injustice to deny them of it. You have freed thousands of men, and with such an army at your back you could free thousands more.”

“It is not slaves I need to free, but the citizens of the Seven Kingdoms. The tyranny which has befallen that country must be stopped, but how? My army is enough to sack a city, but a country? Even a country in such chaos as Westeros is must still have enough power to oppose me. It could break the kingdom, yes, but it could break me too.” Daenerys lifted her head and stared long and deep into Jorah’s eyes. Tears welled at the corners, he could see, and her lower lip trembled only slightly. The sadness which had taken her face moved Jorah to shoo the guards away and wrap her in a hard hug. She sobbed against his shoulder, tears wetting the fabric of his linen shirt, and her hands clutched at his forearms so hard the nails scratched his skin.

“My dragons,” She cried. “My poor children, how can I let them free and keep my people safe? It seems as though I make a move for my family and I hurt my city, or I help my city and crack my family. Oh, Jorah, what can I do?”

Ser Jorah pulled away from her, but held on to her shoulders. He brought his face close to hers and kept their eyes level, all the while trying not to react to her tears. “ _Khaleesi_ you hold such great power. Westeros is in need of you, they will not fight. Wait a month or a year, either way you will get your kingdoms. I promise you.”

The young queen nodded, and embraced Jorah once again.


End file.
